


To Love What Does Not Belong

by HerbalMaiden



Series: Kissed By Fire: The Wolf and the Hound [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Book Sandor, Book and Show Canon Divergence, F/M, More minor characters, Show Tormund, Westeros meets Essos
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-23
Updated: 2017-02-28
Packaged: 2018-06-10 07:57:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,129
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6946537
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HerbalMaiden/pseuds/HerbalMaiden
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jon Snow began a second life, and with it, he was bestowed the obligation of kingship for the North and South. Unknown allies of old and his brother's loyal bannermen came to serve. A newly forged king, with his ally the King Beyond the Wall, Jon's first act was to reclaim Winterfell and restore honor to the North. He knew his brother Rickon and Arya were in the custody of the Bastard of Bolton, but he didn't expect to find Sansa Stark and a Hound as well. </p><p>First Part of San/San trilogy. Patience my friends.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Breathing

**Author's Note:**

> Well, this is the first work I've posted from the A Song of Ice and Fire genre. I have this piece outlined, and I am aiming to have updates once a week. I hope everyone enjoys this work. Sorry for all you show watchers who adore Brienne and Tormund nonsense, none of that will be here. I truly appreciate comments, input, suggestions, and constructive criticism welcome. Bashing will be ignored. I'm a bit rusty at the world of fanfiction, as this is the first story I've posted in five years. Thanks for your time! 
> 
> P.S. A lot of dialogue this first chapter...but action is coming!
> 
> Herbal Maiden

Breathing

Jon didn’t know what to think anymore. Not since he had awoken, naked and breathing. Breathing. He certainly hadn’t expected to ever breathe again. And yet, he was. He was stashed away in the Lord Commander’s quarters, yet he no longer was the lord commander, by his own choice. He would never be a sworn brother again. Never. 

Tormund sat lazily in a chair by the fire. Castle Black had been taken over by the 5,000 Free Folk he had brought with him from Hardhome. With perhaps fifty men left of the Watch, Dolores Edd surrendered to him, asking that the men left serve Jon Snow as free men, in whatever he chose to do. 

Jon didn’t know what he wanted to do. He had no family left. His sisters had vanished into thin air. His brothers were dead, Bran lost somewhere beyond the Wall in the land of always winter. He was a bastard. His home had been taken by the very family who killed the King in the North. He had no titles, no land. He had the comradery of the Free Folk and loyalty of fifty men. 

Val approached him, her hand gentle on his shoulder, Ghost padded silently beside her. 

“If you keep treating me so gently,” Jon said, staring into the fire. “Might make me mistake you for a woman who wants to be stolen.” 

Val’s laughter sounded like the high bells Sansa used to play. She leaned in close enough to his ear for her breath to rival the heat of the hearth. “Might be I’ll steal you.” 

“Har!” Tormund exclaimed from his seat across the way. “He’s prettier than most the girls in the South.”

“Wish the Gods had gifted you with a bit of prettiness, Tormund?” Val shot back, though Jon didn’t miss the twinkle of mischief in her eyes.

The bantering was good fun, but Jon had bigger issues to deal with. He now held Castle Black, without title or support. The king who had promised him men, funds, and supplies was a corpse at his childhood home. Now he housed, and avoided, the Red Woman who had brought him back to life. And Ser Davos Seaworth, a man who seemed to have forgotten his defeated king to place his faith and advice in Jon. 

Jon didn’t have much time to sink further into his thoughts, someone knocked at the door to his solar. Doloros Edd answered, and he turned to see a young Free Folk at the door, out of breath, his axe out of his belt. Jon stood, and his hand reached for Longclaw. 

“What is it Mat?” Tormund barked, already moving toward the open door.  
“Riders,” he huffed. “Looks to be five thousand men on horseback.” He hesitated. “Varamyr is the falcon, he’ll wake with more information.” 

Jon began to strap Longclaw on his hip as he walked outside, Tormund, Val, and Edd on his trail. “How many men and women do we have to defend the Southron gate?”

“Two thousand,” Tormund provided. “Perhaps another five hundred if you put the young ones to the spear.” 

Jon growled. “No one beneath of age.” The sound of warfare clanged in the yard at the possible threat. He could hear bow strings plucked, blades on whetstone. Hammers sung against steel. 

“Riders at the gate!” A voice hollered against the wind. 

He peered from the look out tower himself, five men upon horseback. “Open!” There were no banners, and Jon could not decipher if they were friend or foe. Tormund and Val flanked him on one side, Edd on the other. Ghost shrouded him in his massive shadow, silent as always. Melisandre and the Onion Knight slipped from the shadows of the second tier, Jon didn’t fail to notice as they hurried down the stairs in his direction. 

A booming voice cut through the clamor. “I seek company of the brother of the King in the North!” 

It had been years, since he was a young child, which he had seen two of the people he recognized before him. Easy to spot was Maege Mormont, sister of his former Lord Commander Jeor Mormont, lady of Bear Island. The bellowing man was Mors Crowfood Umber, uncle of the Greatjon Umber who had ridden South with Robb. Three more men dismounted. One was slight, his hair the color of wheat that might make a weak ale. A full armored knight with two blades at his back and a closed helm stood close to the slight man. Lastly, a man as tall as Mors, with a long snow white beard. 

“You’re well met, Lord Umber, Lady Mormont,” Jon said, releasing his grip on Longclaw at the slight relief of being in the presence of his brother’s bannermen. “It’s fucking cold out here, we’ll treat in my solar.” He looked at Edd “Bring some hot food and drink.”

Without need for reply, he led the company to his quarters, feeling the eyes of Davos and Melisandre all the way. The company was fast to follow, though he wondered if having Tormund and Val present would be in bad taste with Mors present. He knew the story of his stolen daughter well, the one that made Sansa spend her nights in Robb’s room for weeks as a little girl still in pigtails. Even Jon’s room on occasion, before she knew what a bastard was. 

The room was hot with the blazing fire, and he motioned for everyone to sit at the long table. Moments later, Edd walked in with trays of spiced wine, hard bread, and steaming chicken legs. The stewards he waved away. 

“I assume the army at your back belongs to you,” Jon started, pouring Val a horn of wine. 

“Aye, with Galbert Glover at the front.” Mors said. “And we have many more coming. They will be here within a moon’s turn.” 

Jon leaned back after he observed everyone had served themselves. “I didn’t anticipate your arrival,” he offered as apology for the meager food. He eyed the three people he didn’t recognize. “Might I ask for introductions.” 

Mors nodded, tearing off a piece of meat from the bone. “Go on,” he growled, his obsidian eye glinting from the flames.

“Hother ‘Whoresbane’ Umber,” the gaunt bearded man supplied. Jon knew his story well too.

The slight man looked at him sharply, as if he knew Jon’s every secret. Jon fought the urge to look away. “You might have heard of me, Lord Howland Reed. I was once Eddard Stark’s man.” He sat a bit straighter. He nodded to the man next to him.

Slowly, the knight removed his helm. He seemed to be of an age with Eddard Stark. At a glance, Jon first thought was blonde, but it was a thick sheen of silver. His eyes were a striking violet, and were trained unwaveringly on Jon with a sense of recognition, yet Jon had never met a man with the likes of him. 

The man rose and went to kneel at Jon’s side. In a fluid movement, one of the blades on his back moved to rest across his bent knee. “Your Grace, I am Ser Arthur Dayne, kingsguard to your father Rhaegar Targaryen. My sword and life have been pledged to you since before your birth. I come to you now to swear my fealty in person.” He did not bow his head, but stared intently at Jon.

Jon stared back, he expected the Northmen to oppose this claim. He wanted anyone to speak. To say this was folly. Jon’s father was Eddard Stark. He had his face and according to those who knew him, his honor.

“You have the wrong man,” Jon replied carefully. “My father was Eddard Stark, Lord of Winterfell, Warden of the North.”

Howland Reed cut in. “Jon Snow was the name Eddard Stark gave you at the behest of your mother, Lyanna Stark. He gave you false identity in order to save you from Robert’s eradication of Targaryens in the empire. I was there when he found you and your mother at the Tower of Joy. It is no lie.” 

Jon stood so quickly he knocked his chair over. “How is it Arthur Dayne, Sword of the Morning, kneels before me when he has been dead these past nineteen years.” He kicked the chair out of his path as he felt a sudden fury burn within him. 

Arthur remained knelt at his feet. “My death was falsified by Eddard Stark and Howland Reed. Your father yielded to me, and I escorted him and Howland to your mother. It was your mother’s orders as my queen that I wait until the time was opportune for you to rightfully take the throne. Until Eddard’s murder, my sister and I had been in Essos seeking allies and information about the prophecies Rhaegar had invested himself in, for your future, and the future of Westeros.” He continued on bent knee. “I come here with Howland Reed, who was sworn to see that your mother’s wishes be fulfilled in the event that Eddard was unable.”

“Eddard Stark,” Jon breathed, “Would never have conspired to put me on the Iron Throne.” 

Howland bent his head gently. “He would not conspire against Robert, for fear his wrath and the power at his back provided by the Lannisters. He had intended to wait for the false king’s death before moving forward. As it stood, he wished you to be humble when the titles and truth were bestowed upon you. He raised you as he thought was not only in your interest, but the kingdoms’.” 

Jon listened, his back turned as he looked into the depths of the fire. “They say every time a Targaryen is born, the Gods flip a coin. He waited to ensure I would not be another mad Targaryen?” The question remained unanswered. He turned to look at the newly arrived visitors. “That would have been prudent, given their history.” Jon motioned for the knight to stand. “If you are who you say, and I am who you claim. What in the seven hells are Robb Stark’s bannermen doing here?”

Maege coughed and set down her horn of ale. “Your Grace, King Robb, ordered myself and Galbert Glover to Howland Reed before the Red Wedding. We were sent to seek extra men, and entrusted to deliver his missive should he die. You were to be his heir. He legitimized you Jon Stark. Howland Reed told us you were already a true born Targaryen.” 

“And if I want neither title?” Jon demanded. “What am I supposed to be? King of the Seven Kingdoms or King in the North? What if I have no wish to be a Targaryen or Stark?”

“The North and South are in need of a new king, and you are intended for both it seems. No matter the last name you choose, even if it be Snow, our swords are yours,” Maege replied evenly. “My Dacey died defending your brother. I’d sooner die to place you on the throne than have my ilk suffer at the hands of the Boltons or Lannisters.”

“Aye, perhaps you’re a fucking Wildling now,” Mors Umber said darkly from his corner of the table. “That be the case? You cower behind motley furs at the end of the kingdoms and fuck this pretty one to keep warm at night?” Val didn’t bristle a hair at his jab. He rose to his full height. “My brother and I came here to uphold our King’s last wishes, to restore the North to its independence. Perhaps you’re naught but a boy, not worthy to follow.” 

This time Tormund who gave his voice. “The crow is no boy. He’s saved thousands, he’s lost his life, and he’s risen again. If he it’s a king worthy of following you seek, you’ve reached the right place.”

“Words of a Wildling,” Mors spat at the man’s direction. “Thieves. Why should I take your word?”

“Sit down, Crowfood,” Whoresbane warned with a level stare. “This is our king, and if he trusts these people and let them into his castle, we will respect that.”

Mors held a hard look but sat down heavily. Mormont raised her horn. “To the King in the North.” Mors and Umber lifted theirs and followed hails.

Howland Reed and Arthur Dayne lifted their toasts. “To the King of the Seven Kingdoms. Long may he reign.” 

Jon had not accepted this role thrusted upon him. He looked upon every face at his table. Last of all, he risked the look on Val’s face. But while the other’s looks expressions were of want or approval, Val’s was a slim smile and her eyes still twinkled merrily. 

“It seems I have no choice, as so few kings do. I’ll be your King in the North,” he agreed after a long beat. “My seat is another’s, I have no army, I cannot promise you victories. But I will uphold my brother’s dying wish to be his heir.” He looked at Howland and Arthur. “I have no wish to go South. I have no wish to quarrel with lions and roses.” He paused, his face darkened with thought. “But if it was my mother’s order that I reclaim the Iron Throne for the Targaryen dynasty, I will attempt to do so in the name of obligation.” 

A silent toast was made by all, even by Val and Tormund, though the Free Folk did not kneel, and Jon firmly respected that. For a moment, he was saddened. For he had thought to follow Tormund, to lay down all role of leadership. And yet there he was, a newly made king of nothing but promises and expectations.

***

Jon wanted to do one last thing of his own volition before he gave himself to duty for the rest of his life. Five thousand men were camped outside the walls of Castle Black, to do whatever he bid. And more would come, how many, he would find out tomorrow. Within Castle Black, he’d given rooms to those who named him a king. Who told him he was no longer Jon Snow. 

But for now, he was warmed by spiced wine, even against the blistering cold of the onset Winter. He walked the second floor, reaching steps to take him to what he sought. Ghost padded behind him. He would not make the same mistake Robb had and leave him out of sight.

Five thousand Free Folk were under his protection, though ruled by another man. He was no fool. He heard them call Tormund the new King Beyond the Wall. His people looked to Tormund for direction, approval, above all, they looked to him for their safety. And for the moment, they believed Jon could provide that. But Jon, the humble, honorable bastard that Eddard Stark had molded him into, wanted to be selfish. Just this once. 

Yet, he paused outside the first door he intended to enter. 

“As the first and only member of your kingsguard,” a smooth voice said from beside him, lilted with a Dornish accent. “I might lend you an ear and advice if needed.” 

Jon turned to see Arthur Dayne casually leant against the pillar of the overhang. He was still in his full plate of plain steel, with a heavy wool cloak of black at his shoulders, helm beneath his arm. 

“I did not expect to be followed, Ser,” Jon said evenly. 

Dayne shrugged his shoulders gently. “It is my duty to give my life for yours. And I already failed once by fulfilling your queen mother’s wishes.” His eyes looked black in the night. “You look rather like your father when you’re in thought, or your cups,” he nodded at the horn in his hand.

“It is dark,” Jon replied blandly. “They said I had Eddard’s look, but that was wrong.”

“You have Lyanna’s look, the dark hair and Northern face to be sure,” Dayne paused, his eyes looked far away. “But your expression and eyes, very much Rhaegar’s. He was my closest friend, you know.” He straightened and granted him a wry smile. “So, as I said, Your Grace, if you need an ear, you always have my confidence. You’ll learn in time that even kings must have someone to listen.”

“I plan to make a foolish decision,” Jon confessed plainly, his hand reached for Ghost’s scruff. “It will please myself and the Free Folk, but my bannermen will not take it lightly.”

“You want to marry the Wildling,” Dayne surmised quickly. “She is a beautiful woman.”

Jon nodded. “More than a beauty. She’s fierce and honest, and her people love her well.” 

“I might have heard a similar song years ago,” Dayne replied with a chuckle. “Your father said similar about Lyanna. She’d have been an honorable queen had the usurper fallen.”

“But?” Jon insisted.

“You are right. Your bannermen will take offense that you would not choose one of their daughters or sisters,” the renown knight agreed, “But,” he said with a quirk of a smile, “You are a king, and a king must do what he thinks is best.”

“And what if a king doesn’t know what’s best?” 

Dayne stepped closer, his face exposed in the weak torch light. “That is why you speak with your trusted. Here I stand. Once loyal to your parents, and now to you, should you wish it.” 

Jon tasted the wine that still touched his pallet. He knew he should not trust a stranger so easily. Trust was the making of failure when put in the wrong men, or women. 

“I plan to keep Tormund my ally, to make him a part of my small council, for him to officially pronounce himself King Beyond the Wall.” He breathed. “For Val to enter marriage with me as a princess of the True North. I want our alliance to lead to merging the Free Folk and southron societies, to grant him the Gift this winter.” Jon paused, his hand left Ghost. “I’ll follow their norm and steal Val this very night, and marry her before a Weirwood before we march south. I cannot offer Tormund much at the moment, but I’ll further the alliance by sending parties to bring south the remaining Free Folk at Skane, Skaagos, Thenns, and the Frostfangs south of the Wall with what remains of Stannis’ fleet.”

“I see no fault with your reasoning,” Dayne said after a moment. “But why do you look like a man facing an execution?”

Jon laughed aloud. “You don’t know my future wife. She’s a formidable opponent. Don’t be surprised to find me with a black eye and bloodied lip come morning.” 

“Do you want me to accompany you to speak with this Tormund?” Dayne asked, as he nodded at the door they stood at.

“No, you have leave for til morning. I’ll speak to him as a king to a king.” 

Dayne bowed fluidly, his armor barely clanked. “Good evening, Your Grace.” He stood straight and began to descend the stairs, but glanced over his shoulder with a genuine smile, “And good luck.”


	2. Theft

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a short chapter to hold the readers over. Please excuse any grammatical errors or misspellings. I do not have a beta, so all faults are my own. I forgot to add in the previous chapter: These characters do not belong to me. All characters belong to the one God, the God of Death, his greatness G.R.R. Martin. 
> 
> Special thanks to everyone who took the time to review, bookmark, or leave kudos. You special readers are the ones that make these swift updates more likely to happen. Thanks again! And enjoy!

Jon knocked on the wooden door of one of the few men he trusted with his life. It took only a moment for it to open. 

“Crow,” Tormund greeted, half dressed and mussing his wild hair. “Tell me your new men haven’t turned on you already.” 

He laughed, something that seemed to come easier to him since he was brought into a second chance at life, while at other times rage filled him inexplicably, quicker than kindling. He clapped the man on his shoulder and moved past him. He half expected to find a spear wife hidden in his furs. But the room was empty save for Jon. 

“I need something from you,” Jon said, suddenly somber, though he lifted his horn to his lips. “You need to crown yourself.”

Tormund stared at him for along moment before he let loose a roar of laughter. “And here I thought you were going to ask me and the Folk to kneel!” He roared again. “I’m no fucking king.”

Jon smirked. “Neither was I, yet here I stand. Do this and be a part of my small council. Be my ally and I will send for the rest of the Free Folk to be brought into safety below the Wall. I grant you the Gift for the winter and a lasting peace between our people should you rise to the occasion and agree to an alliance.” He clunked his horn down on the table, and he clasped Tormund’s neck, pulling him close. “We are both of the North, our people need stability to fight and survive, not discord.”

Tormund hesitated but a moment. “I’ll do this. But don’t expect me to give into that southron frilly nonsense.”

Jon smirked. He leaned slightly to grab his half full horn of wine. “A toast to the kings without crowns.”

His friend returned the gesture with a grin. “Now get the fuck out of here. As my first royal decision, I intend to let me royal arse sleep long past the sun rise.” 

****

 

Val heard his footsteps before Jon had even reached her door. His feet scuffled on the icy wood boards. At the sound of a hard thud and his cursing, she covered her mouth to stifle her laugher. 

The door was fumbled with, and Jon sloshed his drink, muttering as the wine splashed noisily to the floor. Val remained in the shadow, the low fire worked in her favor. Jon gently set his horn on a small table before he approached the bed. Reaching to pull the rumbled bedding, he stepped back to scratch his neck in confusion. He turned, only to be knocked into the bed by the force of the punch Val landed across his mouth. 

She had a knife at his throat before he could lift a finger. “You expected to steal me while stinking of wine?” 

Jon wiped the blood from his lip. “Well, it dulled the blow as intended,” he chuckled. His free hand reached for her wrist that held the knife. “Don’t make me strike you.” He brought up his second hand and pried her fingers. “I would not hit my queen.” 

Her body pressed against his, she found herself easily rolled onto her back. She vaguely heard the sound of a blade hitting the floor. His hands ghosted over her, she half expected him to ask for permission. But the sound of her shift tearing through the silence brought her to the present. She struck him across the face and grinned at his shocked expression.

“That was for tearing my shift,” she huffed. “Gilly sewed that for me, you know.” 

He laughed aloud. “I prefer you without it.” 

His mouth descended onto her neck, trailing the milky skin. Never one to flush, she felt heat pool below her belly and rush upward. Her chest heaved as his mouth reached a pink tipped nipple. She reached into his hair and tugged at the leather strip to let it loose. A growl reverberated from him at the sharp pain, and he nipped harshly in response at the underside of her breast. A wolf indeed.

Val pulled at his hair again, only for his mouth to meet hers in a feather light touch. It was the first time their lips had ever met. His lips were as soft as she had imagined them since she’d first laid eyes on him in Mance’s tent. Several times she had pleasured herself in the darkness to the thought of how of how his kisses might feel. She tasted the spiced wine on his breath, and something more that was simply him.

Val never expected theft to be sweet.

****

Jon stood beneath the heart tree north of Castle Black’s gates. The dawn bled over the horizon, blended into the red leaves of the Weirwood that reached into the bloodied sky. His hands gripped Val’s tightly, forgoing gloves in favor of the touch of each other’s skin. 

Crowns of woven weirwood branches adorned both their heads. Val looked up at him, her eyes more blue than ever before. If not her eyes and golden hair, she would have been mistaken for snow. Her tunic to her moccasins were tanned white, to only be enshrouded by a massive cloak of snow bear hide. 

“I am yours, and you are mine, until the end of all days,” the recited in unison. 

Jon nearly ripped the cloak from her shoulders, a wry smirk graced his lips as he tossed it to Tormund. He unclasped his own cloak of brown wolf hide to wrap it firmly around her shoulders. To secure his promise of security, Jon produced an iron direwolf clasp. 

He would have leaned forward to seal their union, but Val launched herself into his embrace, her arms linked tightly around his neck. The cold seemed to vanish as their lips collided in a deep kiss that endured longer than appropriate to the southerners. But their company whooped and hollered as they pulled away from one another with flushed faces. 

Tormund approached first to half shove Val out of his way in order to hug Jon. Maege Mormont rolled her eyes at the Wildling and pulled Val into her own strong arms. Though the shebear would have liked to seen Jon married to one of her own, she could not begrudge him for choosing an equally strong woman. Maege was proud to call this woman her queen, more so than she had ever felt toward Robb Stark’s western wife. Tormund swung Val in a circle and kissed her cheek once Maege let her go. 

Jon watched as the Free Folk clan leaders and his bannermen mingled in the celebration, whatever distrust they had for one another was temporarily set aside for the occasion. Dayne was silent as he approached his king. 

“I see you weren’t exaggerating about the bloodied lip,” he said lightly. “And I had thought your mother a most fierce north woman.” 

Jon smiled gently. The Sword of the Morning could have mistaken it as a response to his comment, but the King’s eyes were trained solely on his new wife as Crowfoot and Whoresbane Umber approached her and bent their heads in respect. The Crowfoot even planted a wet kiss on her hand. Her laughter rang through the trees and voices at something most likely bawdy the man had said. 

“You selected your wife wisely, Your Grace.” 

Jon now looked at him. “My mother and brother died for their choices in favor of love. It is too soon to say if my grave will be of the same end.” 

“It won’t,” Arthur replied firmly. 

He walked away before Jon could do more than furrow his brow at his kingsguard’s certainty.


	3. Crowns

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowns are passed, a letter arrives, and motions are made

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To all my loyal readers, or new, I am so sorry for this very delayed continuation of the story. My life has been overrun by an extremely overbearing radiology program, but I am striving to make more time for this because it brings me joy. Hope you all enjoy! Reviews are appreciated!!!

Crowns

Val understood when Jon told her no hurrah celebration for their wedding. It was early morning, and the kneeler wedding attendees had been ushered back within the safety of Castle Black. All except Jon, Val, Tormund, and the clan leaders. 

Tormund stood beneath the weirwood they had just graced with their vows. He held in his hands the crown Jon had just taken from his own head. 

“Alright you lot,” Tormund intoned at the men who survived and followed he and Jon back from Hardhome. “I’ve heard your whispers. I’ve heard your children call me their King Beyond the Wall. Hornfoots, Nightrunners, Ice Rivers, even you, you fucking Thenns.” The new Magnar lifted the corner of his lip, in what Jon assumed was the closest he’d ever gotten to a smile. “I’ll be your damned king. Won’t ask you to kneel or kiss my ladylike knuckles, but I expect you to follow my lead and trust I am doing what is best for the Free Folk. Put your petty differences aside as you’d done with Mance, and I promise I’ll be as fair and honest as he was with you. Understood?” The men nodded in agreement. “Good. Its bloody cold out here. And my fellow Northern king and his wife are due for some wine. Move!”

Jon grinned at Tormund’s back as he led his unofficial small council toward the wall. He lagged behind with Val, who had stepped away to look into the face of the weirwood. It was a sad face. The mouth tilted down in a persistent frown, its eyes were too far apart, and barely present beneath the gathered sap from years of crying in the cold. All the same, it brought Jon comfort. 

Val turned toward him as he placed his hands on her shoulders, peering over her at the wooden face that had watched him take his vows to the Nights Watch. And this morning it had watched him break those very vows in order to make new ones to his wife. He wondered if the tree was frowning at his fickle promises, or if it truly saw all and understood that he was no longer the manchild, the bastard of the North, Jon Snow. Now he was simply Jon King in the North. He refused to take Stark or Targaryen. He was a man of his own free will now, or as much as he could be with the future of mankind sprawled at his feet. 

 

“You can give her your respects,” Val reassured him, a hand cupped half his face. “I know it isn’t far.” Jon sighed at the coolness of her fingers. Taken between his own hands, he blew his hot breath into the tight cocoon his flesh formed for her. “I’ll meet you at the gate,” she said gently, though her voice carried with the wind anyway.

Jon kissed her soundly before he nodded. No words were needed. Their feet took separate paths, nearly silent on the thickened snow. Over his shoulder, he saw Ghost pad at her side, as protective of her as him. 

It did not take Jon long to find what remained of Ygritte’s pyre. He had returned more often than he had liked to admit to himself, in flesh and by dream. Oft times when he woke, he imagined he could still smell the smoke as it had risen from the branches he had laid by hand. Where a heart tree sapling grew marked her resting place. Jon knelt at it and bowed his head. It was not only where Ygritte rested, but the future they might have had if Jon had truly abandoned the Watch. 

‘You know nothing, Jon Snow,’ he heard faintly as he closed his eyes. 

One day, the sapling would be large enough to earn a face of its own. He promised himself it would smile, just as freely as the ones she had given him, even when they were at his expense as a kneeler. Her words were still true. He was no longer a Snow, but as a king, he still knew nothing. But perhaps, with Val as his Queen, he might be taught more than the lessons Ygritte had unknowingly bestowed on him. His hand brushed the tree’s white bark as he stood and walked away. 

***

Jon entered the main hall where the hot ale and wine flowed between his and Tormund’s closest men and women. Val was seated at a low table with Maege and the Umbers, he smiled as he saw Ghosts head sprawled over her lap, his white fur blended with her bleach tunic, red eyes focused on a chicken leg just inches from his snout. Part of his heart clenched in fear and admiration at the thin branched crown that tangled in her loose honeyed locks.

Not escaped from his notice the Sword of the Morning stood protectively behind Val, his armor immaculate and hands free of drink. But his lilac gaze is focused on Jon, and he nodded his head at him in acknowledgment. 

Tormund reached Jon before the rest of the celebrators saw him in the shadows of the doorway. He clapped him on the shoulder before he dropped the weirwood crown back on his head. Instantly, he felt the weight of it bend his shoulders. 

“To the King in the North,” Tormund, let loose a wolfish howl, and it served its purpose to draw the crowd’s attention. 

More howls followed, but none more loudly than his wife’s, high and pure above the men’s imitations. Her eyes glittered and she raised her horn to him alone, a silent beckoning he quickly learned he’d never be able to refuse. 

Jon grinned and shook hands with the men and women who were suddenly his own, not Robb’s who he had always envied silently as a child, but his. His smile faded at the thought of his brother, not slain gallantly in war, but murdered at a wedding of all places. He wondered if Robb had felt this at ease the night of demise. Did he think he was surrounded by only friends and loyalists? His eyes shot to Dayne, still silently guarded behind Val. Today would not be the day he died, Jon thought determinedly to himself, his hand crushed within the grasp of Galbert Glover. 

“If it weren’t for the breeches,” Mors bellowed, “I’d say you could rival looks of those prissy southron queens.” 

Jon approached the table where his wife sat in good company of Maege Mormont and her daughters Alyssane and Lyanna. Mors was already deep in his cups, but that was to be expected based on what Eddard had once told he and Robb of the man who never stopped grieving over his daughter. Once at the table, he kissed Val soundly for the room to resume their howling. Ghost lifted his head curiously in response, the silent one of his wolf siblings. 

“Might be I’m not,” Val said laughingly, taking a deep drink from the horn she snaked from Jon’s hand. “But guarantee I’d out fight the lot of them southern girls,” she looked slyly at Maege who sat on her other side. “Save for these Mormont women who seem more Free Folk than not!” 

“Here here!” Lyanna shouted in her girl’s voice, yet held the command any man’s might. She raised an abandoned horn to her mouth before her mother grabbed it from her.

Maege cackled at her newly reunited daughters. “You’re a bit young for the Dornish wine.” She ruffled her hair affectionately with a great paw.

The festivities carried through breakfast and lunch, even outside the main hall celebrators could be heard in the courtyard for the new King Beyond the Wall. The council members and clan leaders were deep in their cups by the time a standard dinner of hard bread and not quite identifiable stew was served. Jon had not intended for the day to be wasted.

Val draped his arm around her shoulder as Tormund stood with a mighty “Har!”

“Come, King and Queen in the North,” his friend shouted to him. He took Alyssane’s hand twirled her to his side. “Time to celebrate with your wife’s people!”

Jon looked down at his wife and she grinned up at him before darting toward Tormund. Ghost was hot on her heels. The council members followed out into the yard where the singing of steel and pounding of anvils was replaced with flute and drums. Fires were lit and the dancing started. 

Val laughed merrily as Tormund twirled her and Alyssane with an expert precision belying his rough exterior. Their feet stepped in time with the fast rhythm of the skin drum. Jon dropped his cup as found his hands captured by another’s, tugged into the swaying fray of dancers. 

Lyanna Mormont grinned up at him and tried to show him the quickening jig. Much to her amusement, the King in the North was no refined dancer. He glanced around at the faces smiling in the glow of the fires, as if a war wasn’t coming. As if winter was not there. He nearly laughed at the sight of Maege Mormont bumbling along with Whoresbane. 

When he looked down, it was not Lyanna’s hands in his, but Val’s. Her eyes twinkled as the song slowed, and her hand reached to rest on his shoulder. His arms encompassed her comfortably as the steps went from a skip to a sway. The sound of the flutes and pipes drifted with the winds that howled through the fortress. But he could not feel the cold. Her breath was hot against his neck as she pressed herself flush against him for all their people to see.

“Let’s retire before they call for your southern bedding,” she hushed in his ear, leading him from the music and into the shadows.

Jon could not have said no if he wished it. Once out of sight and on the stairs to his quarters, he kissed her forcefully. Part of him wondered if she would make him steal her over again. He’d gladly do so.

Their hands frantically pulled at each other’s clothes as he nearly slammed the door on Ghost. The wolf glared up at him before dropping in front of the blazing hearth. He thought Val might be bothered by being intimate in front of his beast, but she paid no mind. Her callused hands shoved him onto the bed before she straddled his hips. Both breathed heavily as her long locks formed a curtain around them, a waterfall of gold. 

“You don’t look a king in our bed,” she said gently. 

Jon sat up and pressed his lips to hers. “Nor would I want to be. In our bed, we are only Jon and Val.”

She nodded and pressed her forehead against his, her arms around his neck as though she would never release him.

***

Sharp knocking at the door awoke Jon, though his wife remained fast asleep, faintly snoring amongst the thoroughly crumpled furs. With a soft rustle, the heavy drape separated the sleeping quarters from the darkened solar. He shrugged on his breeches with a loose not before opening the door.

Dayne and Tormund eased past him, where his friend sat himself beside the low embers of the hearth. His only kings guard passed him a rolled parchment without hesitation. 

The seal had not been broken. Jon recognized the pale pink wax and suspended body upon a tortured x. He held back the snarl that threatened to escape his lips. He forcefully ripped the vile sigil and tossed it amongst the embers before unrolling the parchment. 

Lord Commander Snow of the Once Honorable Night Watch:

It has been reported to me you allow the filth from beyond the Wall into my lands. I give you two options. Option one: Send the Wildings back from which they came and bend the knee to the Warden of the North. Option two: Deny my reasonable requests and wait for my arrival, for which I will remove you and all those you harbor within your icy castle. Should I come, you will personally become acquainted with House Bolton’s sigil.   
Come Bastard, and see what I have done.  
Come Bastard, view the halls that hang with banners of the flayed.  
Come Bastard, and see your youngest brother treated the beast he has been raised.  
Come Bastard, and wish your sister Arya a happy marriage, she has called for you often.   
Come Bastard, try to claim what has never been yours.

Warden of the North,

Lord Ramsey Bolton

Jon’s face hardened before he shoved the missive into Tormund’s outstretched hand. He turned toward Dayne as he lifted a discarded tunic and pulled it over his chest. The knight was stoic but his eyes were sharp.

“Gather Reed, Mormont, Glover, Crowsfood, and Whoresbane. Bring them here for an emergency council meeting.” 

***

Jon sat leaned heavily against the back of the chair. His dark eyes shifted from each and every person at the table. 

“I am sorry, you will have to repeat this to me. I have how many men at my behest?” 

Howland Reed gave a weak smile to him. “Dorne has as many as 60,000. They have been left untouched by the war. The Umbers have perhaps 5,000 remaining. The Karstarks have unfortunately fallen to favor with the Boltons, though they kept the majority of the men at Karhold. My own house has 20,000 in the marshes, ready to march should you order it, or protect the Neck from invasion. But it is Manderly who will surprise you. He is at Winterfell under a false treaty with Bolton, a thousand of his most loyal men inside the keep at his side. But he has seven times as many at White Harbor, they wait to set sail with the fleet of ships he has silently kept from the Lannister rule.”

Their king drummed his fingers on the wolf head that formed the arm rest of his chair. 

“And do not forget Dorne has four times the amount of ships to go as directed,” Arthur added in his calm voice. “And should you need it, Daenarys Targaryen is across the Narrow Sea.”

“I doubt she’ll want to help the new found nephew who has promised to claim her throne,” Jon dismissed hollowly. 

“Dragons would be formidable against an enemy who cannot withstand fire,” Dayne reminded his liege. “A family feud could be handled after the dangers have been eliminated. You already have the loyalty of three of the Seven Kingdoms. More will follow once you have rid the South of the Lannisters.”

Maege Mormont scoffed. “The Riverlands is a lost cause. The Blackfish will never leave his home with Jaime Lannister holding a siege at his doors.”

“What of the Vale?” inquired Jon’s wife. “You say they have remained untouched as well.”

Howland shook his head. “Untouched by war perhaps, but poisoned as I’ve heard from the mountain clans’ whispering. Petyr Baelish has the Eyrie in his palm, and has taken Robin Arryn into his custody. Not a lord of the Vale would raise a hand to him while he keeps their men alive and food on their tables.” 

Jon shook his head. “We can do without the Vale as the numbers stand. Winterfell must be handled first, as a base from the White Walkers should the Wall not hold their attacks.” He folded his fingers and leaned over the sewn map strewed across the table Eddard Stark used to hold private breakfasts with his children, when the Quiet Wolf sometimes tired of the ruckus of the main hall. “More importantly, my sister and brother are being held hostage.”

“We have the advantage of Manderly in Bolton’s ranks to turn when the time come for us to meet on the field,” Howland mused, “But you must think beyond Winterfell.”

Jon lifted three of the six Dornish Suns in his roughened palm and turned to gaze at the roaring hearth. “I am.” Jon assured the councilman, but his heart howled to him and said otherwise. Arya and Rickon, a mere boy, were at the hands of an unhinged murderer. 

“When I take Winterfell, Tormund, the Free Folk, and the rest of Winter’s houses will accompany me. The North Remembers, and I want those to be the last words House Bolton hears before I end them.” He straightened and turned toward Dayne and Howland. “Ser Arthur, I want half of Dorne’s forces to arrive at East Watch. From there we will distribute the men amongst the fortresses at the Wall. Most had been made habitable by Stannis’ men, what has not will be seen to. The surrounding woods are dense.” He focused on Howland. “Lord Reed, your men will remain at the Neck to stop any Boltons or traitors who try to flee the North’s justice.” The men nodded at him. The she-bear straightened as stepped toward her. “Your daughter Alysanne is a capable woman, I want her and ten of Bear Island’s best to seek White Harbor’s forces and to bring them up the White Knife from the South.”

“A raven would be faster,” Glover suggested quietly, a stoic man since his brothers’ deaths. 

“I won’t risk the Bolton’s interception, especially with Manderly already hiding guise in his presence,” he explained to the man. “Glover, you’ll head half the Northern forces and round Winterfell from the east, Alysanne and the White Harbor forces from the south.”

“And House Umber?” Crowfoot added indignantly from behind his tankard. 

Jon smirked lightly and rounded to stand behind Umber. He slapped a hand on his shoulder. “You and Maege will be at my side as the Northern and point force. Ramsey is too narrow of mind to expect Umber to march beside the Free Folk. I want him to see the full extent of what happens when a Stark is usurped.” 

He waited for the outburst and indignation to follow, but a silent pause lead to a blunt chuckle. “Can we bring the giant along too?” was all the man asked as bellied laugh echoed from the walls.

Jon genuinely smiled as he took to the head of the table and sat, his hands toyed with his crown. “Maege, tell Alysanne she leaves at day break and to be prepared to arrive at the south in a fortnight. Myself and Glover will be stationed to attack from the north and east accordingly.” He looked at each man and woman, including his wife who was more focused on the map than him. “Start preparing, we leave in a week’s time.” No more was needed for dismissal except for Tormund and Dayne who lagged behind.

Wolf stretched lazily in front of the fire and lifted an eye lid before dozing off once more.

“Ser Arthur,” Jon addressed, leaning back with a slight wince at the pitch straight back of the chair. “I need you to choose someone you trust to treat with the Blackfish, to explain it is Catelyn Tully’s daughter I fight to free. He need not be there when Winterfell is taken, but he is a sound man when it comes to strategy and I need a man that can stand against Petyr Baelish if need be. Three of seven kingdoms is not enough, and the Neck must be fortified should the Lannisters turn their focus north.” 

Dayne mulled thoughtfully, his hand stroking the smooth hilt of his famed blade. “If you must send someone, it must be Howland.” The knight shifted on foot. “Blackfish is not an easy man to gain favor with, and he won’t give a minute’s time to someone he can’t recognize. Might I be frank with you, Your Grace?”

“As I prefer you.” He saw his wife smile at this.

“Blackfish will want his door free before he lifts a finger for a bastard king, though Northern blood you have.”

Jon mulled the inside of his cheek. “Can we bring part of Dorne’s forces to assist in ridding the Riverlands of lions?”

“Your Grace may do as ever he sees fit,” he saw a flash of Rhaegar in the raised quirk of an eyebrow paired with pursed lips. “I could see to have ships disperse men into the Neck and the march south from there, bypassing any Lannister or Westerland forces opposing the southern side of the Red Fork.”

“Good,” Jon agreed. “See that arrangements are made swiftly for just enough men to eliminate and maintain expulsion of Jaime Lannister’s forces from Riverrun and the surrounding area.” Dayne bowed and turned on his heel to exit before his king’s voice stopped once more. “Make it clear I want Jaime Lannister alive and delivered wholly to me. I will not repeat Catelyn Tully’s folly.” 

***

The Blackfish paused from his quickened pace as Howland cut him off on the battlement. The man is slight compared to the broad Tully, but he has no less an impressive presence. 

“Your King calls upon you,” Reed warned. “If you don’t fight for the North, who do you stand for?”

“I stand for House Tully first and foremost,” the man intoned. “And you’d best remember that.” He ducked into a narrow hall and Howland was forced to follow before they approached a barred door. He turned on the smaller man. “I need your word you will not harm those behind this door.”

Howland’s face was passive and he nodded, and exposed his open palms as further evidence. The bar was lifted and the room gently glowed from within. Howland stepped past to see a young woman and year old boy soundly sleeping in a canopied bed, his eyes did not miss the delicate iron crown glinting on the table beside the bed. He turned and strode from the room.

The bar came down once more before Reed opened his mouth. “She is queen of the North no longer, you do realize that?”

“Aye, but she doesn’t.”


End file.
